


pulling down stars just to make you glow

by wrenstars



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, ezra uses the dark side but he's still part of the rebellion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-04 23:14:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18822736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrenstars/pseuds/wrenstars
Summary: ❝wish on a falling star, his aunt had once breathed into his young, impressionable ears. Wish on a falling star, Luke, and that wish will come true.❞or:in which ezra returns to luke, but not in a way he expects.





	pulling down stars just to make you glow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arikylo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arikylo/gifts).



_Wish on a falling star_ , his aunt had once breathed into his young, impressionable ears. _Wish on a falling star, Luke, and that wish will come true_.

It’s something he hasn’t done in years―a childhood antic, placed aside when childhood ended to make room for older, more grown-up behaviours. He’d seen stars fall across Tatooine’s skies and trudged onward, caring little. The only reason he’d cared about the stars back then was the promise they offered him: that there was more to life than Tatooine’s dusty plains, that there were opportunities to escape his monotone existence on the desert planet.

The action had been on its way to the trash, to be tossed aside and never again recalled.

But then his world changed, and circumstances caused him to pick the habit back up, dust it off, and place it back on prime position on his shelf.

The first time he’d wished on a star since childhood was after he watched Ezra fall.

Now, he wishes on every falling star he sees.

He closes his eyes and wishes, the words on his lips an old prayer, more sacred to him than even the Force. He reaches into the well that is his willpower and sends it to the bottom for the deepest scraps of his strength, pulling it back up to offer to the universe, as though by offering the last of himself the worlds will take pity on him and grant him his heart’s desire.

 _Please. Bring him back to me. Let him still be breathing_.

If stars did indeed grant wishes exactly as he wished, that’s how his star would appear. That’s what the star that falls and vanishes into the realm of dreams would look like.

But this―this is not a falling star, graceful and beautiful in the sky.

This is when the star crashes: when it catches fire upon descent, when it hits the ground and shatters into fragments, into stardust (stardust with sharp, burning edges), something that slips through Luke’s fingers and slices his palms open no matter how he tries to keep hold of it. It cracks the ground, breaking the entire world with its fall as the flames still clinging to it spread.

This is wildfire.

The answer to his wish comes like this: it’s a battlefield, it’s blood sticking to himself and his troops, half of them dead already; it’s bad intel, a surprise ambush, and no matter how quick his reactions, how skilled his abilities, there are still cracks where the stray shots pass through; it’s watching another wave incoming and wondering _when will this end_ ―

―It’s the snap of another lightsaber, a hum of energy, of _life_ , when all other energies have faded.

It’s standing from his place tending to an injured comrade and witnessing carnage unfold. It’s the cries of their enemies as the air is choked from their lungs, their screams as their chests are opened. It’s the short sounds of life before they are cut short, the limp fall of bodies like puppets cut from their strings, blood like iron and eyes like stolen stars and a single bout of laughter that sounds like overflowed wine―

And then it’s still. There’s not even a breath of wind to disturb them, as though the world itself is reeling from the shock of the scope the battle that has occurred on its soil, where the wave of Stormtroopers now lies dead at one person’s feet in messy piles like leftover scraps.

The newcomer’s back is to them, the only movement coming from his shoulders in response to the heavy rise and fall of his chest. His lightsaber―green, the colour of nature, giver of life, now being used to cause drought and run the blood of people dry instead―snaps closed. Luke eyes his every movement, waiting with bated breath. There is something about the newcomer, something he can’t quite put his finger on, something that tugs at his memory like old data in his hands―

And then the newcomer turns.

Luke’s knees almost collapse beneath him.

The answer to his wish looks like this:

Amber eyes like smouldering coals, clinging to lingering rage―

(They had once been as blue as the sky, a place of freedom, where the sun shone and life flourished)

―A smile as wicked as poison, one slipped unawares in someone’s drink, one that the poisoner is watching their victim drink―

(He’d given it to Luke so many times before, brighter than Tatooine’s twin suns, but a light that allowed life to flourish instead of dry out)

―A small stain of blood on his face, like the tears of those who had fallen to his blade―

(Once he’d outstretched his hand, bringing life closer with his touch alone, guiding Luke’s hands into the fur of wildlife, encouraging the growing bond, the connection to life)

―And all of these on a face he once knew how to trace like letters, as every inch had been explored by his fingers, the touch of his lips―

(And now it’s like looking in a mirror and seeing someone wearing a mask, not your reflection.)

He’s the same.

He’s different.

He’s both at once.

“ _Ezra_ ,” Luke breathes.

The world falls around him.

It is then that Ezra Bridger smiles, truly _smiles_ , and he no longer looks like a king of shadows but a boy, the boy Luke fell in love with, the boy flushed with life and mischief and _love_. He looks like he never fell on Dathomir, like he’s been by Luke’s side all along.

When he smiles, the amber light of his eyes almost vanishes.

When he smiles, it’s hard to believe the carnage at his back was caused by his hand.

Luke wipes his eyes. He wants to cry. He wants to laugh. He wants to hold Ezra at arm’s length and demand answers. He wants to pull him into his arms and never let him go.

“Hey, Luke,” Ezra says. His lips stretch wider into a grin – it’s identical to the one he wore when they first met. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

Luke’s head spins. He wants to reach out and grab hold of something, but nothing is there to support him. It’s too much to process, too much that Ezra, his love, is alive when he thought he’d fallen to his death, but back in a way he had never imagined.

_Is this what fallen stars look like? The form that shattered dreams take?_

_Aunt Beru, why didn’t you ever mention this_?

“You fell,” is all he can say.

“I did. And I lived.”

“This can’t be real.”

But he grasps Ezra’s wrists even as he says it, and Ezra’s body is warm and solid beneath his touch. There’s the flutter of his pulse beneath Luke’s fingers―Ezra is not a fallen star, after all. His light still flickers. Still shines.

Ezra rolls his eyes. “ _Please_ don’t degrade yourself like that,” he says, poking Luke in the chest. “You’re too powerful to have _not_ noticed my Force presence.”

He can: Ezra’s Force presence has always been the crackling fire on a winter’s night, a welcome escape from the cold, something that (to Luke) is chaotic and energetic but comforting. But now the fire’s been stamped out and it’s lost its energy, its warmth, and only embers remain―the cold leftovers of something once brighter, like single stars wrapped in the stronger shadows of night.

“How?” Luke croaks.

_How has the galaxy turned you to this?_

_How was I not enough? Was there more I could’ve done? Should’ve done? Where were you when I looked for you? How much further did I have to dig to save you from this?_

_Ezra_ _―how was the light not enough? What have you seen? What have you suffered?_

 _What have you become_?

A shadow passes Ezra’s face like the moon covered by a cloud, leaving the night dark. He looks over Luke’s shoulder, seeing something that Luke cannot.

“Dathomir isn’t an easy place to survive on your own,” he mutters, almost to himself. “I adapted. And in the process, my eyes were opened.” He looks back to Luke and pulls his hands out of the blond’s grasp, so _he_ is the one holding them instead. “I can protect you properly now. I can protect everyone.”

Luke swallows. He thinks of the moment mere seconds ago, a moment that already feels distant, years away―the moment Ezra re-entered his life in such a way that he almost didn’t recognise him. When his sunrise smile was traded for one of fading dusk.

“Ezra – are you sure?” he whispers.

 _I don’t want you to sell your soul for me_.

 _Ezra, I just want you_.

Ezra cups Luke’s face and pulls his lips down into a kiss. Luke closes his eyes and melts into it, his body reshaping to fit with Ezra like soft clay being reformed.

He doesn’t even hesitate. He doesn’t think twice.

Because Ezra is different, but also the same―he’s still the same boy beneath this protective shell, one born of suffering and pain.

Ezra may be a fallen star, but like all stars, it isn’t because he chose to―because he was forced, because even Jedi have to obey the laws of gravity sometimes, and the fall tore him down and clawed at his light, the light of a boy who had carried the world on his shoulders for too long until the pressure caused him to crumble, and the coldness that had been pressing on his walls, chipping away at him for most of his life, swooped in through the cracks present and made itself at home.

But those shadows haven’t entered his veins and choked him, strangling his warmth until he’s a fire burnt out, cold and ruthless like Vader. That fire continues, an everlasting flame, slightly dimmed but still there. Still warm.

Ezra is fallen, but he is still kind―he is still the boy Luke loves. He doesn’t feel like he’s looking at a stranger.

 _Ezra has returned to me_.

The star that carried his wish may have crashed, but it still delivered. Luke cares about nothing else. The Empire could show up with reinforcements and Darth Vader himself and he likely wouldn’t bat an eye.

All he cares is that Ezra is by his side and he’s miraculously _alive_. Not whole, exactly, but still alive.

He’d been broken because he was alone.

Luke will never let that happen again.

He rubs a thumb over Ezra’s cheek and pulls his boyfriend into his chest, embracing him.

_Ezra, how much have you sacrificed?_

_It’s because we left you there_ _―and I’m so sorry._

_I won’t leave you alone again._

_I won’t let you go through this alone._

_It’s my turn to look after you_.  

***

_The corridors on Yavin 4 pass in a blur as Leia drags him after her with the same enthusiasm he’d seen people on Tatooine drag others to the podraces. She doesn’t relent her grip no matter how many times he tries to pull free, her hold on his wrist like a clasp made of steel. His head spins._

_“Leia, what’s going on?” Luke asks._

_He doesn’t know what’s led to this. All he knows is that Leia appeared in his rooms that morning, her eyes shining in a way he hasn’t seen since they’d met (part of their light, he suspected, had died when Alderaan had). There were still shadows on her face, dark crescent moons beneath her eyes, but she’d looked the sun that had come out from behind a cloud._

_“There are two people here I want you to meet,” she says, “And they’re excited to meet_ you _.”_

 _“What_ are _you talking about?”_

_But Leia merely grins and shakes her head. She hadn’t offered answers when she entered unannounced into his rooms, and she still refuses to give them now._

_She leads him through the maze a little longer until they come to a stop at the hanger doors. Leia punches the code in quickly and steps aside, gesturing for Luke to enter._

_He does._

_And there, he sees two unfamiliar figures―one man, one boy._

_The taller man is like the ocean on a still day; he’s calm and cool and deep, his wisdom expanding more of the world than any human could hope to discover. He stands tall, hands clasped beneath his back, talking serenely to the second figure._

_The boy―he’s about Luke’s age―sits perched on the wing of an unfamiliar ship like a bird about to take flight. His hair is dark like he belongs to the night, but…_

_That isn’t true._

_He isn’t the night, but the moon and the stars: he shines, he glows, his dark backdrop only accentuating that light. There’s a gravitation force around him and Luke can’t help but stare, useless against the current that pulls him in._

_The boy’s head turns when the blast doors open. His eyes widen._

_“Leia! This is him, isn’t it?” he calls._

_Leia beams. “It is.”_

_The boy grins and leaps down, landing so lightly on his feet it’s like he’s filled with air. He draws closer to Luke and his breath catches in his chest, a breath stuck somewhere between his lungs and the lump in his throat_ _―a lump that greatly resembles the shape of the night-touched boy._

_The boy only stops when he’s in front of Luke._

_“Hi,” he says, and offers his hand. His voice is like the call of a bird in the night: the sign of life, the sound that breaks any and all stillness in the air. “I’m Ezra. You’re Luke, right?”_

_Luke blinks. “How did you know?”_

_“Everyone knows your name around here.”_

_“Is that so?” Luke mumbles._

_It’s only then he realises Ezra’s hand is still outstretched, and his own hand is still by his side. Flushing, Luke hastily reaches to take it. His palm fits comfortably in Ezra’s, whose touch reminds him of warm, balmy nights encompassing his skin. Ezra grins, starlight and wonder spilling from his lips for there are galaxies there, warm and vibrant with undiscovered life, desperate to be explored._

_Luke thinks he might want to find them, to discover the force of that life himself._

_The tips of his ears turn pink at the realisation and he glances down, trying to ignore the impulse that comes from staring too long at those lips_ _―only for all air to leave his lungs as his eyes hone in on something even more shocking._

_If not for the alluring light of the other boy, he thinks he might have noticed this first. It’s a rare thing, after all, a diamond surrounded by ashy coal, and impossible to ignore once it has been noticed._

_Luke’s hand closes around his father’s weapon, the one he’s worn since Ben’s death._

_The same weapon he now sees attached to Ezra’s hips._

_A lightsaber._

_“You’re a Jedi,” he breathes._

_It’s not a question. There are no questions when it comes to this particular weapon. He glances over at the other man_ _―there’s a lightsaber attached to his hips, too._

_“I am,” Ezra quips. “Rumour has it you’re one, too.”_

_Luke glances down at the lightsabre at his hip and chuckles. On him it feels more like decoration, a fancy accessory worn only for status, for show. Ezra wears his like the weapon it is._

_“Just barely,” he mutters._

_His experience would fit naught but a puddle_ _, and Ezra’s is enough to fill oceans. How can they even begin to compare?_

_However, Ezra merely laughs._

_“So was I once, before Kanan trained me―you just need that training, too.” He grins. “Say, Luke. What do you say to learning from us?”_

_Luke freezes._

_That moment, stretched out before him as endless as the universe itself, he can see the possibilities –_

_―The Force, no longer a mystical fog that blinds his sight, but a clear wind that flows behind him, in harmony with him, guiding him―_

_―His lightsaber, cutting cleanly through the air, something he considers a friend, an ally, not an ancient family relic he’s afraid of breaking―_

_―A library of wisdom, one that’s been awaiting him for so long, one that’s been encompassed in darkness and now, finally, there’s a light to illuminate his the words―_

_―A hope. A purpose. A way forward. A guide, his own personal navigational star in the sky._

_All with this boy by his side._

_Luke glances back at Leia. She beams when he notices him and sends him a small nod._

Go _, she seems to say._ You want this, don’t you _?_

_Luke turns to Ezra once more and nods, a small smile spreading across his lips._

_“I’d like that,” he says qietly. “Thank you.”_

_The grin that spreads across Ezra’s face could fill entire stars._

***

Ezra is a nightmare incarnate for the Empire.

Luke watches him as they fight side by side, blue lightsaber shining alongside the green, his heart in his throat the entire time. Ezra controls the Force like it’s a storm waiting to abide his commands: Stormtroopers fall in drones before them with choked screams, their armour sliced through like butter, blaster shots stopping mid air as Ezra halts them and sends them flying back the way they’d come.

Ezra is a force to be reckoned with on his own―but with Luke by his side, they’re almost unstoppable.

Almost.

Ezra charges into battle with as much restraint as a hurricane, battering everything in his path without considering how they might possibly slow him down. The debris he causes in his storm scrapes against him, leaving him injured―but like any storm, he doesn’t care, and only pushes onward with greater intensity, sinking deeper and deeper into the Dark Side the longer the fight progresses.

Luke doesn’t leave his side, even when the battle is over.

“Ezra,” he whispers, once the battle has ended and the screams fade into wind. “Are you okay?”

They’re on the edge of the battlefield, blood and corpses still in their peripheral vision. The sun is falling and the sky is coloured in hues of deepest red, as though the blood spilt on the ground had been too much for the world to handle so it seeped into the sky instead.

Ezra wipes an arm across his face, blood smearing his cheeks. He grins.

It’s a grin like knives and blaster wounds, of cracked flesh and broken dreams.

It’s the type of grin that can only be forged in war.

It’s a grin that still looks so out of place on his previously starlit lips.

“Never better,” he says, shrugging. “I kept you all safe, didn’t I?”

Safe―is this safe, Luke wonders? He supposes he is, in the loosest terms of the word: he’s healthy, there’s air in his lungs, his heart beats in his chest and there are only scratches on his skin.

But _safe_ is more than that. Safe is a lover’s gentle touch on his skin, when they both see time expand like the universe between them. It’s a warm meal at the end of a long day, the ability to close one’s eyes and exhale fully, sinking fully into a chair with no intention of ever leaping to one’s feet for there’s no need, for everything exists in peace. It’s his time on the Ghost with Kanan and Ezra. It’s the time he went to Lothal and felt the life of the Loth-cat under his fingers, the air between them quivering with life, with their connection.

But _this_ …

This doesn’t make him feel safe.

It makes him feel afraid.

And that’s the exact opposite of safe.

The battle has ended but his guard is still up, ready to react to the slightest hint of danger―but whether that’s to protect Ezra or Ezra himself, he doesn’t know.

All he does know is that Ezra looks _tired_. His amber eyes are the brightest things about him, but even they struggle to keep alight like the last flames of a fire before they turn into naught but embers. His skin is littered in scars and small cuts, cracks in his body, a body that’s struggling to hold itself together.

Around them, the other rebels give them a wide berth as though the air around them is laced with poison. Eyes slip over Ezra and fall to the carnage of the battlefield instead, voices lowered in an uneasy chorus.

They’re afraid. They don’t believe Ezra belongs on their side. They might even hate him.

But Luke doesn’t hate Ezra, or even fear him. He _loves_ him, loves him so that it hurts. He fears _for_ his boyfriend instead.

 _It’s my turn to make sure you’re safe_.

 _It’s my turn to let you know you will never again be abandoned or left alone_.

“You did,” Luke concedes. He reaches out of Ezra. “But how about you? You’re injured.”

Ezra steps out of his reach. “That’s irrelevant.”

“At least let me check your wounds.”

“They’re minor. Don’t worry about me, Luke. I’m _fine_. I promise.”

Luke opens his mouth to protest, but Ezra touches his cheek, and he stills―he can feel the touch of a ghost on his skin, the ghost of the time _before_. The touch is feather-light, and Ezra looks at him like he’s holding the world, the sun, the entire _universe_ , in his hands.

And Luke almost staggers like he’s been hit with a heavy blow―because only then does he realise how important he is to Ezra. How Ezra will sacrifice anything in his name. How his only priority is seeing Luke safe. How he looks at Luke and sees not an earthly being, but rather someone who belongs in the cosmos, someone with the universe in his veins.

(Luke knows, because sees Ezra in exactly the same way.)

So Luke leans forward and kisses one of the small grazes on Ezra’s cheek. Kisses don’t make things better―that’s naught but a tale told to children―but Luke layers his love and his care on Ezra’s wounds as though somehow, that will help hold him together. He can taste blood and iron and war on his boyfriend’s skin but doesn’t let it deter him, lifting Ezra’s hand to his lips and kissing the cut there, too. Ezra shivers and snakes his hand around the back of Luke’s head, pulling him down to capture his lips instead.

Words are useless between them, and may as well be empty air for the attention Ezra pays to them―so Luke pours everything left unsaid into that kiss. _I love you_ , he says, keeping his touch light and gentle. _I love you so much. But I am so worried. I just want you to be okay―nothing else matters to me as long as you’re okay_.

But the words are silent, and Luke has no way of knowing if he’s heard the coded message in his kisses.

***

It doesn’t get better.

It only gets worse.

They face battle after battle, and Ezra tackles every one of them the same: lightsaber raised, charging forward like an avenging war god from old myths, taking the lead every time like he carries the fate of the universe single-handedly on his back, relishing in his powers without a care how they’re used against others. Luke fights beside him, the gentle breeze to his boyfriend’s fierce storm, trying to take some of the burden from his shoulders.

Ezra still acts and thinks like he’s alone.

Luke just wants him to know this isn’t the case.

But the message alludes Ezra: he gets pieces of the picture, a few dandelion seeds of Luke’s kindness and Sabine’s concern and Hera’s worry and Kanan’s fear, but they are only a few seeds of a much larger flower, and he can’t see the whole image with such a small sample.

So he fights, and fights recklessly, and Luke wonders if this mindless battle is what it was like to combat battle droids in the Clone Wars. Ezra barely notices when blasters slip through his defences but presses on, the Force and his lightsaber both flashing around him in a deadly storm―it’s more dangerous than any sandstorm Luke found himself in on Tatooine, more violent and harsh than the relentless rays of the twin suns.

But then each battle ends, and Ezra’s energy dissipates with the closing snap of his lightsaber. The adrenaline leaves his body with the blood from his wounds (and Luke thinks he can see Ezra’s soul fade with that, too). He curls further and further in on himself each time, a flower slowly losing its life with the incoming winter, shrivelling up until he’s squeezed dry. Until he has no life left to give. His body, so luminescent in battle, fades as soon as it ends and crashes back to mortality in an undignified heap.

Yet he’ll grit his teeth and still force himself to stand tall, not letting his mask down to anyone. Not even Luke.

Luke wears no mask for Ezra, though. He lets the Force shine with the strength of his emotions so there’s no way Ezra can’t feel his concern, his fear, his _love_. He watches Ezra, is always the first to join his side, sends him a peaceful push of the Force whenever his dreams become too much or his new Dark Side powers too much to handle.

Because that’s just how they are. They love each other, and they’ll do anything to save the other.

Ezra thinks he’s the bodyguard of the entire Rebellion―but what he doesn’t realise is that sometimes he needs saving, too.

“Ezra, you need to rest,” Luke implores, when their next battle is finished and Ezra all but collapses on the floor. He reaches down and takes Ezra’s hand, squeezing it. “Please. Retreat.”

Ezra grits his teeth.

“I _can’t_ ,” he repeats―the same thing he says after every battle. The sentence is the chorus of an overplayed song, heard so often that he can recite it by heart.

Luke bows his head and clenches his free hand into a fist.

Ezra is his star: he is bright and blinding, his light in the dark, the warmth in the night. He is celestial and has stardust in his veins―well, Luke thinks so, anyway, because to him Ezra Bridger is more than just another _boy_.

But not even the stars can last forever: their brightness dims and they grow smaller, exhausted after handing the universe with so much of their light. And hasn’t Ezra given up enough of that? He’s travelled from one side of the galaxy to another, backtracking and stopping at multiple places in between before repeating the journey again, three times, four, and always ( _always_ ) helping. Always sacrificing. Always expending his life, spreading his light, giving it to everyone.

And then they go supernova and explode, too strained, too beaten down, and turn into nothingness. Even the brightest and largest of stars will eventually meet their fate; there is always a timespan, a limit on the light they can give before they shut down, before the hairline fractures grow too large and they fall apart.

All stars reach a breaking point.

All stars eventually get tired and say enough.

All stars eventually explode, shatter, turning only into microscopic particles, returning to the universe.

And Ezra is falling apart.

The glow in his eyes, once as warm as a campfire, is fading. He shrinks further and further in on himself each day. His hairline fractures exist in the scars and the fresh, open wounds that litter his skin.

All that’s left for him is to explode.

If that happened, Luke knows he’ll go with him. Watching Ezra like this is must be more difficult than going toe to toe with Darth Vader.

“Do it for me,” he pleads. “Please, Ez.”

But Ezra shakes his head. “All of this is for you, Luke.”

Luke glances back at the battlefield and the blood on Ezra’s clothes and swallows.

 _But I don’t want this_.

_I don’t want blood and battle and war._

_Ezra._

_I just want you_.

***

_The battle ends in a draw._

_Their lightsabers are crossed, faces just inches from each other. Luke’s chest rises and falls in ragged gasps, and Ezra isn’t much better. They look at each other and laugh, deactivating their sabers._

_“You’ve really improved,” Ezra says, eyes shining. “You’re incredible, Luke.”_

_Luke flushes. He suddenly feels vulnerable and exposed like an idol, a galactic-wide sensation, one whose hologram is being shown to the entire galaxy_ _―Ezra’s gaze is as intense as billions of watching eyes._

_Luke tears his eyes away and looks at the floor instead. The floor expects nothing from him, after all, having seen him fall over countless times in training. He tries to focus on that but, no matter what, he still feels Ezra’s gaze on him, refusing to let him go._

_The collar of Luke’s shirt is suddenly too tight around his neck._

_“All thanks to you,” he says, rocking on his heels._

_Ezra snorts. Luke yelps as a force pushes his side, sending him stumbling; he doesn’t even need to turn around to know that Ezra is grinning, shaking his head._

_“We were merely the guides,” he says, folding his arms over his chest. “_ You _had the talent._ You _were the one to put in the hours, to dedicate yourself. You were certainly more dedicated than I ever was, Luke_ _―and look at you now!” He gestures at Luke’s person and looks him up and down like he’s a particularly refined piece of art, something worth billions of credits_ _―no, that’s not right. There’s no ownership to his gaze. Ezra doesn’t look at Luke as though he has a price_ _―he looks at him like he’s priceless._

_Ezra steps closer and claps a hand on Luke’s shoulder._

_“Don’t exclude your own hard effort,” he says lowly, soft but stern, like this is a lesson Luke should never forget._

_Heat rushes to Luke’s cheeks again to colour his face like a giant beacon, alerting the entire world to his feelings. He hastily drops to the ground, coughing and rubbing his face, trying to hide the embarrassed heat._

_The place Ezra touched his shoulder still tingles._

_Ezra sighs and plops down beside him, leaning back on his hands._

_“You ready for tomorrow?” Ezra asks._

_Tomorrow_ _―their first mission together._

_Not that they haven’t been on missions together before, but it’s never just been the two of them: they’ve often been joined by Kanan or Sabine, sometimes Leia or Han. Luke loves them all, but lately he’s been resenting the additional presence and finds his thoughts trekking down a more dangerous path, a path lined with roses that hide their deadly thorns, imagining himself and Ezra alone…_

_Luke shakes his head. No. He can’t be led astray by such beautiful thoughts, even if they’re tempting_ _―they’re dangerous, enchanting him closer, waiting for him to prick his finger on the hidden weapons._

 _It’s not like they’ll have time on Dathomir, anyway. There’s been a rise of negative energy in the Force, which they’ve tracked back to Dathomir. Ezra’s descriptions of the place leave Luke reaching for his lightsaber each time_ _―it isn’t exactly the type of planet they’ll be able to let their guard down on and have picnic on together. They’ll be too busy trying to stay alive._

_“As ready as I can be,” he says. “Though I am slightly nervous. There’s a lot that could go wrong.”_

_Ezra rolls his eyes._

_“C’mon, Luke, have a little faith!” he chastises, elbowing Luke’s sides. “You’re amazing on your own, but you have me this time, too! We’re the unstoppable duo, remember? Nothing can stand between us!”_

_He’s bursting at the seams, his soul too much for his body to hold that it slips into the world, pure and raw, unrefined energy. Luke can’t help but let that energy sink into his veins, too_ _―he never can when it comes to Ezra, it seems._

 _“You’re right,” he says_ _and finds that, if partially, he believes him._

_Because when he’s with Ezra, he feels like he can grasp the universe in both hands._

_They’re so close now he could feel Ezra’s warmth, his breath on his face. Staring at Ezra is like being hypnotised, led astray by the Force: he might just do anything Ezra asked of him._

_“Ezra,” he murmurs._

_The word slips from his tongue before he realises it. He presses his lips tightly together, trying to take them back, but it doesn’t work_ _―his voice acts like a spell, one that has already worked its magic, and Ezra lifts his head_

_“Luke?” he probes._

_Luke can barely breathe._

_There’s no going back now. He can laugh it off, tell Ezra to forget it, that it’s nothing… But the thought of doing that leaves his stomach curdling. He’ll be throwing the words up, their taste foul on his tongue, and he’ll be feeling sick and weak for the rest of the day._

_Going through with it, however, actually going down that rose path…_

_Luke bites his lip._

_He’s already told himself no_ _―but that is for when they’re alone on Dathomir. The Ghost isn’t that place. The Ghost is the closest thing he has to a home, perhaps even more so than the Rebellion’s new base or the corridors of the Falcon._

_Here, there are no thorns; and even if there are, he has all the time in the world to check and avoid them._

If things go badly tomorrow, I don’t want these feelings to go unsaid. No matter what his reaction may be… I want Ezra to know _._

_So he clears his throat and looks at Ezra dead in the eye. His lips are dry, and he has to wet them several times before he manages to say, “If things don’t go well tomorrow…”_

_Ezra covers his mouth with his hand._

_“Don’t speak like that, Luke. It’s bad luck.”_

_Luke reaches up and slips his fingers through Ezra’s, removing his hand from his mouth._

_“I still want to say it anyway,” he says quietly._

_Luke moves their hands back to the space between them. He doesn’t let go, even when their hands go still, even when there’s no reason to hold on._

_Luke swallows and tries again. “Ezra…”_

_He falters again_ _―but this time, it’s his fault._

_He doesn’t know what to say._

_How does he give words to a feeling that’s bigger than his heart?_

_Ezra doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, which is unsettling in itself. Ezra hardly ever says quiet, his personality to bright to be kept contained by his body, and now he’s like a statue. He even leans forward, all his attention on Luke like he’s about to give a speech, one that he’s been waiting his whole life to hear._

_But, Luke realises, even if he gives that speech, a whole speech and strings hundreds of words together, there are simply no words_ _―not even any combination of them_ _―to satisfactorily verbalise what he feels, in any of the thousands of languages in their galaxy. Even the longest of words aren’t large enough to hold the sheer size of Luke’s feelings, their letters not enough to define how much Ezra means to him._

_There are no words. He reaches out and cup Ezra’s face. Ezra’s eyes flutter closed and he leans into the touch_

_“I’m really grateful I met you, Ezra,” Luke whispers._

_And that have to suffice, because it’s what underpins every other feeling he has for Ezra Bridger. He knows the Force works in mysterious ways_ _―and he’s so incredibly grateful it decided to work to bring them together._

 _Ezra smiles. Once again, Luke sees an entire universe in that smile_ _―it’s a universe he wants nothing more to be apart of, nothing more to explore._

 _“So am I,” he says. He hesitates and bites his lip_ _―Luke can almost see the war raging in his eyes― before he blurts, “A universe without you in it would be lonely.”_

_The sound stuns him like a blaster shot directly next to his ear._

_Luke blinks, processing the words. First they circle through his head on repeat, a chorus stuck in his head, before memory of the rest of the lyrics sinks in and he understands their meaning._

_His jaw drops and he stars at Ezra, trying to place the words in his mouth, convinced that he’s been possessed, that a ghost took over his body and had him utter those words._

_But no, it was Ezra_ _―witty, electric, awkward Ezra―who uttered words that should exist in a bad romantic holofilm._

_And Luke bursts out laughing._

_It’s a belly-deep, roaring laughter that leaves him bending over, clutching his stomach. The words sound like a poorly spoken foreign language from Ezra’s lips; they’re stiff, don’t exactly belong on his tongue, and completely contradicts what Luke knows of him. He sounds like a child trying desperately to be a grown up._

_Ezra bright red groans, his head in his hands. Luke leans over and shakes his shoulder, his shoulders still shaking._

_“When did you get so poetic and sappy?” he teases lightly, grinning._

_And he has to grin, has to tease_ _―because if he didn’t then he knows he’ll be a puddle on the floor, melted by the warmth of Ezra’s words._

 _Ezra groans and, cheeks red, looks away. “I heard Kanan say it to Hera and it sounded really kriffing nice, okay?” he protests, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, karabast, I’m not good at this stuff… But then again, I only saw them kiss after years of watching them skirt around each other without outright admitting they loved each other so perhaps they’re_ not _the best example to follow… Oh Force, I’m such a kriffing idiot, this is all such a mess and I can hear Sabine laughing at me now_ _―”_

_Words pour from his mouth like rocks down a landslide, constantly gathering speed and crashing into each other and rolling away on odd angles and causing disaster wherever they hit and Luke can’t help it, he’s laughing harder now, and Ezra is more flustered than he’s ever seen him and it makes his heart squeeze oddly._

_He’s drunk, positively drunk on Ezra and his endearing embarrassed rambling, as high and detached from reason as the stars in the sky_ _―because that’s the only explanation for what happens next._

_The beginning is this: it’s watching the way Ezra’s face becomes red all over and realising he wants nothing more than to take Ezra’s face in his hands and place kisses to every flushed spot. It’s listening to his voice and realising he wouldn’t mind drowning in it._

_The impulse is this: it’s the tremor of the Force before something major happens, directing him to act. It’s Luke, already beginning his hyperspace jump, lurching forward and pressing his lips to Ezra’s before he can redirect the coordinates._

_The kiss is this: it’s Ezra widened eyes, Luke’s mild regret that he’s stopped his ramblings, and the stillness of his heart when he realises what he’s set into motion but knowing it’s too late to change destinations_ _―and then it’s fire in his veins as Ezra presses his lips harder to Luke’s, their touch like warm spice and tantalising fruits, sweet and warm_

 _The realisation is this: it’s that he loves Ezra, well and truly, and perhaps had begun falling since he first saw him_ _and there’s been nothing to catch his descent since. He’d been falling not of his own will at first, but now he realises that he’d jump willingly into this, no matter what._

_He doesn’t mind falling, because Ezra is there to catch him._

_And then they’re moving, pressing their lips together and it’s wet and clumsy and uncoordinated because neither of them has any kriffing idea what they’re supposed to be doing but they do it anyway, letting their instincts overtake them. It’s abstract art, that’s what it is; it’s messy and wild and something a little ugly but, as Sabine says, the abstract is supposed to make you feel something, not just be pretty for the sake of being a masterpiece. And Luke can feel his love for Ezra swelling within him and pouring out with every kiss, every touch: he is a volcano that’s been holding these emotions in for far too long and suddenly they’re exploding out in fiery passion that almost burns him, so strong and uncontrollable that the Jedi of old would’ve seen that passion and instantly dubbed them as Sith Lords._

_Luke’s soul sings and the Force crescendos around them like it’s celebrating the turn of events. Luke leans forward and so does Ezra_ _―they completely misread the other and are sent hurtling off course like a badly plotted hyperspace route and are tossed out of it, landing in a messy heap on the ground. They blink, reeling as their spinning world rightens, and then they’re laughing again, deep and rich as the oldest galaxies_ _―it’s a sound better than music, and Luke wants to record it and listen to it for the rest of his life. He leans forward and presses another enthusiastic kiss on Ezra’s lips and they chuckle._

 _They’re gasping for breath, enough to break apart but still close enough that their skin brushes with the slightest movement. Luke stares at Ezra_ _―he feels like he’s staring right into the sun, the brightest being in his world, the warmth that floods his veins and keep s him going through the day, keeps him comforted at night. He stares at the sun and isn’t afraid of being blinded._

_They’re in space, but Luke feels warmer now than he ever had on Tatooine._

_“Ezra Bridger,” he murmurs, and shivers_ _―the weight of the word, Ezra’s name, is different now. It carries so much more meaning. “Ez. I think I might love you.”_

_Ezra grins._

_“Well, Luke Skywalker,” he hums, poking Luke’s chest with a heart-stopping wink, “I_ know _I love you.”_

_“Ez!”_

_Luke moans and buries his flaming face in Ezra’s shoulder_ _―somehow, the offhand comment makes him blush more than when he was copying Kanan’s words. Maybe because it sounds more Ezra_ _―this is the person he’s fallen in love with, not someone else Ezra’s trying to emulate just to impress him. Ezra’s chest shakes against him as he laughs and he hugs Luke closer, cocooning him in his warmth._

_In Ezra’s arms, Dathomir feels lightyears away, mayhaps even another galaxy away. That that exist is Ezra, his warmth, his heart thumping steadily by Luke’s head, his Force presence glowing with strength of his home planet’s twin moons._

_They stay there for the rest of the night, not needing any other source of warmth when they have each other._

***

All stars explode.

Everyone knows this, even if they try so hard to ignore it. Stars are beautiful, ethereal and―to the eyes of earthly beings―often mistaken as immortal. It’s too devastating to think of a night without stars, of any spot in the galaxy going dark and the light goes out.

But they do, and nothing can change that.

It’s a realisation that’s hung heavy on Luke’s heart for weeks.

If Ezra is his star, does that mean he’s been setting his boyfriend up for this fall since they met?

Luke’s been holding his breath of so long, afraid that the wrong touch will make Ezra explode. Stolen moments between them off the battlefield are no longer enough: Ezra wakes up beside him every night in cold sweat and no matter how Luke embraces him and whispers to him, Ezra refuses to go back to sleep. His eyes hang like setting crescent moons but he doesn’t stop, struggling to hold onto the night even as the sun rises: he trains, trains constantly, not just his lightsaber skills but his handle on the Dark.

(Sometimes Luke thinks that the two are correlated: as Ezra holds tighter onto the Dark it grabs him tighter in return, like they’re both trying to suffocate the life out of the other, and there’s no telling who has the upper hand.)

It’s all for him. It’s all for the Ghost. It’s for Leia, for Han―it’s all for the Rebellion.

He’s been trying to bottle Ezra’s light, to keep the light contained even in a small vessel so it doesn’t break. He does it with hugs, kisses to Ezra’s temple, night away from the Rebellion and spent in each other’s company. But no matter how he tries, he only delays the inevitable.

And finally, it happens.

The fall begins like this:

It’s the lull in the middle of the storm, the one where they relax and lay down their weapons, believing the deluge to be over (the first wave had crashed on them, battering them, destroying half of what they had at their disposal). It’s when Luke catches Ezra’s eyes over the field and manages a smile because no matter what, they’re somehow still standing―and that itself is a miracle. It’s when the surviving soldiers drop to the sides of their comrades, their shields falling as they slip into the role of nurturers, not soldiers.

It’s Ezra, the lightning in their storm, hot and quick and disruptive―he leaps to his feet and snaps his lightsaber on, already charging before its fully activated and using the Force to push back the barrage of shots that would’ve decimated their ranks.  It’s his eyes glowing as he chokes his enemies, it’s Luke recovering second and yelling for the others to return to their stations as he sprints for Ezra’s side. It’s an utter mess, but there’s no way they can call this horrifying clash of blaster shots and screams and blood abstract art―it’s graffiti of the worst kind, offensive and ugly and carved the walls no matter where they turn.

It’s Ezra slipping into the mind of the AT-AT driver, trying to turn the Empire’s greatest weapon against them.

It’s one careless moment.

It’s one second of lowered guard.

It’s one stray shot.

It’s all these things, combined into one to create the greater problem: the wound that opens up in Ezra’s chest.

Time stops.

The rest of the world melts away, the battle slipping into an alternate reality, because the only thing happening in Luke’s world is watching the shot penetrate Ezra’s chest. It’s watching Ezra stagger. It’s watching him cry out.

It’s pain exploding in his own chest; a mirror of Ezra’s pain received over their Force bond, but twice as painful―because not only does he feels Ezra’s pain but the sensation of his soul shattering, going supernova with Ezra’s star, tearing him to shreds inside and out.

It’s Ezra looking down. It’s his eyes widening when he realises what has happened.

It’s Ezra Bridger crumpling to the ground.

And that’s when it hits Luke how _mortal_ Ezra is, how in reality he isn’t like a star at all. When stars fall, they are given one last spectacular show by the galaxy, a thing of beauty to behold―and there is nothing beautiful about the way Ezra just falls like an overripe meiloorun from its tree.

“ _Ezra_!” Luke screams.

The sound is louder and more terrible than an exploding ship in the midst of space, even though it comes about in quite the same way: It builds in his lungs than tears through his throat, almost ripping it apart with the force of it, coming out of it mouth in broken pieces, shattered by the sobs mixed with the scream.

He doesn’t hesitate.

He doesn’t think.

All he thinks of is Ezra as he deactivates his lightsaber and sprints for Ezra’s body, falling on all fours beside the boy who owns his heart.

Others run over and stand in front of them, shielding them from harm―or himself, at least, Luke thinks in the back of his mind. They might be on edge with Ezra, but they’ll do anything for him.

War rages around them, the worst bedside lullaby, but Luke hardly notices it. He blocks it all out and cradles Ezra’s head in his lap. His heart nearly stops when he realises how limp Ezra is in his arms, how his head moves without any resistance; Ezra has always been full of fire, defying even the coldest night in space―and now he’s as pale and cold as the moon.

He’s pale, shrinking like summer retreats to be replaced by winter, but somehow he is still the brightest person there and the only thing that Luke can see.

Ezra isn’t really a star. No matter how highly Luke thinks of him, how in love with him he is, they’re both just mortal in the end.

But to Luke, Ezra is his entire universe―and right now, his boyfriend is the only thing that exists beside him in the galaxy. They could lose the battle, even be dragged onto a Star Destroyer, but as long as Ezra is in his arms, Luke doesn’t think he’ll ever notice, not when the brightest star in his galaxy is threatening to go out.

Luke brushes back a strand of hair sticking to Ezra’s sweat-coated face. His hand trembles. His vision is blurry. His throat is thick.

He is present, and he is not at the same time: they almost exist in another world, the moment existing in a far-off place detached from reality like a dream, like this is a bad nightmare he will wake up from.

“Ez,” he whispers. His voice cracks. He squeezes Ezra’s hand and places it to his lips to it. They’re as cold and brittle as ice. “Ezra. Don’t―don’t close your eyes. Look at me, okay? I’m here. I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.”

Ezra’s eyes flutter open. He gazes blearily around. It takes him an eternity to land those eyes on Luke.

“Luke?” he murmurs.

His voice, once rich and deep like honey, is now as weak as water-thinned wine.

Luke chokes back a sob and grips Ezra’s hand tighter, as though Ezra is a leaf about to be blown away to the wind and lost forever and Luke’s touch is the only string keeping him rooted to the earth.

“It’s me,” he whispers, then speaks a little louder, terrified Ezra won’t be able to hear, “Yes, it’s me. Ezra, I’m here. Ezra. Ezra. Ezra.”

Ezra’s name spills endlessly from his lips, and he repeats that one word, that one name, like it’s a mantra. A prayer. As though by saying it often enough it will keep Ezra grounded and stop him slipping through his fingers.

“I’m here,” he repeats. His hold on Ezra’s hand tightens with every promise. “I’m here. I’ll always be here. I’m not leaving you alone again.”

Ezra smiles. His face turns ashen at the movement, as though it’s required as much effort as it would to run a marathon. Ezra turns his face into Luke’s chest and, for a heart-stopping second, Luke swears he sees Ezra’s eyes return to their original shade of blue.

“I know,” he croaks.

And he goes limp in Luke’s arms.

***

_Navigating the Dathomir caves is like walking underwater, on the floor of the darkest, dirtiest ocean in the galaxy._

_It’s a stark change from the outside, where the air itself bleeds red as though weeping for the lost Nightsisters. The caves are gloomy, without any light, as desolate and frigid as the bottom of the ocean would be. There is no sound but their footsteps on the ground, and even those are slightly muffled._

_The only ones who dare to sink so low are them and the largest, most deadly of predators_ _―and treasure that sunk to the bottom of the floor long ago, now forgotten and lost to the world. Waiting to be found._

_Luke’s hand rests on his lightsaber as they prowl through the dark and he continues to look over his shoulder._

_“Any idea what we’re supposed to be looking for?” he’d asked easier._

_Ezra shrugged. “Nope. There’s a lot of weird stuff on this planet. The Night Sisters were witches.”_

_“_ Wonderful _.”_

_“If it’s any consolation, I’m pretty sure we’ll know what it is when we see it.”_

_Luke had only laughed in response._

_Things never did seem to be easy for them, after all._

_And sure enough, an hour later they’re still searching. It’s like playing a game of Loth-Wolf and Loth-Cat but the Loth-cat, the thing they seek, is so small it keeps eluding their grasp._

_The longer they remain there, the closer Luke presses to Ezra, reminding himself he’s not alone. Ezra is his firefly in the dark, his guide, his light, his warmth. Ezra smiles and entwines his hand in Luke’s, leading them as they go deeper into the cave._

_And then, finally, they find what they’re looking for._

_It’s a pebble compared to some of the ancient relics they have spotted in the cave_ _―a small orb, half the size of Luke’s head, pulsing with a green, smoke-like substance_ _―but it’s unmistakeably what is causing so many problems. The Dark Side is drawn to it like Jawas to scraps, festering around it like mould._

_“What do we do?” Luke whispers. He barely breathes, talking like the ball is a child that will wake at the slightest noise and throw a tantrum._

_A very dangerous, destructive tantrum, he’s sure._

_Ezra frowns. “Destroy it, surely. It’s gathering the Dark Side to it. Destroy it, and it loses its hold.”_

_He reaches for his lightsaber. Luke’s heart skips a beat. “Ezra, wait_ _―”_

_But Ezra’s blade is already ignited and, in a single clean movement, sends it cleanly through the orb._

_Luke throws his arms over his eyes as blinding green light breaks free and dumps over them like a tidal wave, and just as powerful_ _―enough to send Luke staggering backward, at least. An inhuman screeching fills the air, sending shivers down his spine._

_It leaves as swiftly as it came like smoke dissolving into the wind: fine particles still there, but too small to be of any further concern. Luke lowers his arm, only bringing them back to his sides when the air is no longer tinted green._

_He looks at Ezra. His boyfriend is paler than usual but he still sends Luke a trademark grin,_

_“That wasn’t so bad, right?” Ezra quips._

_That’s when the cave falls._

_It’s starts small with only the slightest of traces, an enemy sneaking on them from behind: it’s dust from the ceiling, small tremors only Force-sensitives can feel. It’s the sinking sensation of his gut as the Force tugs on his senses like a child demanding attention._

_He doesn’t need its warning, because things start spiralling out of control: there are cracks in the floors, the ceilings, the walls; the groan of stone breaking apart, the trembling of pillars holding the caves up._

_The floor shakes, making Luke stagger. His eyes snap to Ezra’s and they stare at each other. Their eyes are mirrors, reflections of themselves and the situation: in Ezra’s eyes is Luke’s fear, Luke’s understanding of the situation._

_Ezra grabs Luke’s hand._

_“Run!”_

_They run._

_The cave roars, belated anger for destroying its prized possession. The floors shake as they sprint, propelling themselves onward with the Force but going so hard that Luke’s body still aches in ways it hasn’t in months. If they weren’t Force-sensitive they’d have been_

_Luke can barely breathe. His lungs are burning. His heart can barely keep up with the intensity of his movements. Ezra’s pants beside him, almost falling behind as he stumbles but, seconds later, he’s on his feet again and moving with renewed intensity._

_Harder._

_Faster._

_There’s a hint of red light_ _―the cave’s exit._

_It’s so close._

_It’s still too far away._

_The ground is already giving way in front of them_ _―they’ll be swallowed before they reach it._

_Luke’s heart drops with the stones plummeting into the chasm._

_“We’re not going to make it!” Luke yells._

_There’s a pause. A second that fills an entire hour. The cave crumbles behind them. It falls in front of them. Their escape is only a thin sliver of light, blocked by falling stone._

_“You will,” Ezra says._

_They’re in the middle of a storm, and his voice still manages to be as calm as a gentle breeze over the ocean._

_“What_ _―?”_

_An invisible hand pushes Luke’s back._

_Luke shouts, Ezra’s plan becoming clear only as he performs it. He reaches out for Ezra, trying to pull him, too_ _―they’re connected by the Force, he should be able to feel him no matter what!―but the world blurs around him and he can’t make out right from left, up or down, or even if he’s confusing the two―then pain explodes in his skull and he tumbles, hitting every exposed rock in his path, his body like fragile glass on hard ground._

_The caves collapse behind him, and still, all he hears is Ezra’s scream._

_“Ezra!” he bellows. “Ez! No!”_

_He scrambles to his feet, almost tripping twice, and sprints for the caves. He’d just heard Ezra_ _―surely he can pull him out again, surely he’s not that far gone_ _―his heart is in his throat, his head is spinning_ _―surely this is all just a terrible dream, a result of the nerves he felt before sleeping_ _―_

_If he wasn’t a Jedi, he’d have fallen into the newly-created chasm._

_It’s wide, like the jaws of a large, hungry beast_ _―or a vengeful one, the jaws of a dragon roaring after two humans had trespassed and harmed its treasure. It’s swallowed everything about the cave: the floor, the interior, the carved entrance. There’s no evidence a cave was once there; even Luke and Ezra’s footprints going into it have been covered by a thick layer of dust._

 _And Ezra_ _―_

_He’s nowhere to be found._

_Luke falls to his knees by the edge._

_“Ezra!” he yells into the void._

_He shouts, over and over until he can feel his throat beginning to go raw, but it’s like calling into the depths of a black hole. Everything is silent, without the slightest breath of wind, and even the rock he sends into the whole makes only the faintest of noises. The planet twists, no longer like a haunted house, but a graveyard._

_“Ezra!” he shouts again._

_The silence that answers is louder than the fall of the cave itself._

_Luke is still by the edge. He’s frozen. He’s still. He wants to look away. He can’t move his eyes. He stares at the chasm. He sees it. Sees it in its entirety. Yet it’s like listening to a lecture while his focus is sliding out: he’s not taking any of it in._

_He feels nothing._

_His entire body is numb._

_He can barely feel his fingers._

_There’s a faint cackle of static in his ears, and a voice. It’s like trying to hear it from underwater: it’s muffled, distorted. Luke raises a hand_ _―he barely even realises he’s doing it, his body not quite feeling like his own―and knocks his head._

_“Luke? Ezra? Come in!”_

_The voice is like the cry of a beacon in distress. Perhaps that likeliness_ _―and the subconscious, automatic reaction to always respond to such signals_ _―is what drives Luke to bring his comm to his lips._

_“Hera?” he whispers._

_There’s a sharp intake of breath from the other end of the comms._

_“Luke!” Hera exclaims. “Thank the Force, we saw the cave collapse_ _―are you and Ezra okay?”_

_Okay?_

_The word circles through is head, intangible while he is solid, its meaning like a distant dream of which he can only recall the haziest details._

_Is he okay?_

_On surface level, he’s fine. There’s barely has a cut on his body, after all, and the biggest injury will be the bruises resulting from the force of his fall. He’s fully functioning, heart beating and air in his lungs and all._

_But once he looks beyond surface level, into the crushing depths of his soul…_

_He’s empty. He’s numb. It feels like he’s drowning in the frigid depths of grief and shock and horror and that water has now entered his lungs, his body, freezing his body from the inside out. He can barely draw breath. He can’t take his eyes off the place he last saw Ezra, as though somehow their connection is a string and he’ll be able to pull Ezra back out._

_No._

_He’s not okay._

_He won’t be okay unless Ezra is._

_“We need to find Ezra,” is all that he manages to choke._

_They search for hours, until the sun sets and the world becomes one large shadow. Hera flies the Phantom like a scavenging bird of prey. Sabine flies close with her jetpack. Kanan and Luke lift rocks with the Force. Zeb climbs down as far as is safe._

_Time no longer exists, only a lingering sense of urgency_ _―and urgency to find Ezra, to hold him back, to hold him in his arms, to spend one more night with him… Everything else is a running, clear river; it all looks the same and blurs together as it rushes past Luke, standing in the thick of it, his body growing colder the longer he remains within it but he barely notices, numb and used to it. He could’ve stayed there until his body froze over and wouldn’t have paid it any attention._

_That is, if Kanan hadn’t dragged him out._

_Kanan approaches Luke when the sky becomes too dark to see. His Force presence is heavy around him like a dark cloud, powerful and straining with the strength of his emotions, just waiting to be released._

_Kanan rests a hand on Luke’s shoulder._

_“I’m sorry, Luke,” he says gently. His own voice is thick. “Ezra… Ezra’s gone.”_

_“He can’t be!” Luke snaps, throwing Kanan’s hand off. He approaches the edge and looks over it, so sure that at any second, Ezra will appear from within the rocks and wave. “He isn’t. I’d_ feel _it!”_

_If Kanan is angered by his outburst, he doesn’t show it. Kanan is like the deepest depths of the ocean, not showing ripples even when a storm is howling outside._

_“Listen,” he says instead. “Do you feel anything now?”_

_Luke grits his teeth. He’s ready to yell, to throw back that of course he can feel Ezra, that they’re just not trying hard enough, because there’s absolutely no way he’s gone_ _._

_But even as he prepares to shout he calls out to the Force, desperately in search for the second point of light in his life. If Ezra’s his star, then he’ll always be able to find him no matter what._

_And there’s nothing there._

_The Force is as empty and cold as an artic tundra. There’s not even a snowstorm, a storm raging with pain_ _―there is only emptiness. Stillness. A cold so sharp it digs deep in Luke’s bones._

_It’s then that Luke’s knees shake and he staggers, crashing into Kanan to stop himself from falling. The empty tundra of the Force is ice beneath his feet, and if he loses his balance he’ll find himself drowning in it._

_Ezra was passionate and wild_ _―if he was still alive, there would’ve been a snowstorm, not this chilling silence._

_The anger, the fear, the desperation… It all slips from Luke’s body like the plug’s been pulled. He looks up at Kanan and, with a jolt, realises he can feel tremors coming from the Jedi, tremors that penetrate even his ocean of calm._

_Earthquakes rock the world, can happen beneath the ocean_ _―and both their worlds have just been severely shaken._

_Kanan places his hand on Luke shoulder once more._

_And it’s there that Luke_ breaks _._

_He buries his head in his hand and sobs, his chest shaking with the force of it, and he almost wishes he were still numb because then he wouldn’t be able to feel anything, feel the shattering of his heart and the stab to his soul, this pain that threatens to eat him whole._

_Then arms are around him_ _―they have to be Kanan’s―and Luke lets himself be held._

_“I’m so sorry,” Kanan says into Luke’s hair._

_The rest of that time passes in a blur. He remembers Hera gently taking him from Kanan and leading him back to the Ghost. He remembers lying in his bunk, still sobbing, and Hera’s soft voice in his ears. He remembers being coaxed out to eat, taking it to the nearest window. They haven’t entered hyperspace yet_ _, still in orbit around Dathomir. It’s like no one wants to leave Ezra. Not yet, anyway._

_A shooting star streaks before his eyes._

Make a wish _, his aunt’s voice whispers._

_And it’s from the moment that Luke restarts his habit of wishing on stars._

***

Waiting for Ezra to wake up is like waiting for a storm to hit.

There are only two ways this can go: either the storm passes over them completely and they’re spared, or it hits, and hits hard. It screams loudly in their ears and tears down everything around them, until only the barest of structures are left.

This is the moment before that storm makes its mind. This is the moment everyone waits with bated breath. This is the moment they jump at the slightest of noises. This is the moment they pray to whatever force is listening that they’ll be spared.

This is the moment before they learn if Ezra will make it―or if he’s about to die.

They wait it out in different ways: Sabine paces up and down the halls while Zeb alternates between visiting and taking his frustrations and fears out on the training field. Kanan sits deathly still and always visits accompanied by Hera, whose arm is constantly around his shoulders.

And as for Luke―he refuses to leave Ezra’s side.

Leia and Han visit, both trying to coax him away, but Luke sends them away each time.

He’d had his back turned to Ezra when the first storm hit, blowing his heart away so far he thought he’d never find it.

He won’t leave Ezra to ride out that storm alone again.

He promised him.

He still needs to tell Ezra how much he loves him.

He forgoes Jedi training. He keeps himself entertained by either reading on his datapad or watching Ezra, willing him to wake up. He falls asleep with his head on Ezra’s bed. Days slip into a never-ending cycle; a nightmare he can’t seem to break.

Luke falls asleep still holding Ezra’s hand, trying to be his anchor, the person he holds him to the world and stops him flying out of their grasp.

He’s dreaming of Ezra again that night, which has happened since the accident. He’s alive in this dream, which means it’s a good dream, and they’re simply talking.

Something warm nudges him, like a small animal demanding attention.

It’s enough for the dream to become blurry―that warmth is not something from his dream.

A sensation nudges him, again, and again, that young animal persistent and determined to drag him from sleep. Luke groans and plants his feet stubbornly in protest, turning his head away. The dream swirls like sand in a standstorm, there one second and disappearing the next, taking the vision with it. Even as he reaches out to grab it, he can only capture a few particles, holding onto a fraction of the dream as the rest slips through his fingers.

“Luke?”

The voice sounds like it’s coming from a broken comm―but that tone, the way it says his name…

Luke would know that voice anywhere.

He jolts awake, letting go of his last connection to his dream and stares at Ezra. He’s still pale, still weak, and his connection to the Force a little distant but he’s awake, he’s alive, there’s understanding in his eyes and a slight flush in his cheeks.

“Ezra?” Luke whispers. His voice cracks from misuse.

He’s still in a dream, surely.

But when he reaches out, he brushes against something warm. It’s diluted, flames that have been partially stamped out―but he’s felt it more than enough times that feeling it when it’s a little weaker doesn’t mean he doesn’t recognise it.

That’s Ezra’s Force presence.

That’s something that cannot be conjured in a dream.

This is real.

The world spins.

“ _Ezra_!”

Luke clings onto Ezra’s hand and holds it to his chest.

“Force, for a moment, we―we all thought―I thought―” He words are bitter caf on his tongue―he cannot bring himself to say them, to remind himself of the horrid taste. The aftertaste of fear is bad enough.

Ezra cracks a smile. It looks like it’s had to be scratched onto his face, achieved only through pain.

“You’re not getting rid of me _that_ easily,” he says, and winces.

The wince, Ezra’s pain, is the final thing that snaps the strained strings still holding Luke together―the gates on his feelings fall open and the waves come crashing out in a fierce, deadly deluge.

“You’re an idiot,” Luke says, voice shaking just like his hands. The words are like wine, something he’d kept in the dark, maturing, until it’s so strong it’s all he can taste when he brings it up, the flavour heavy and masking all other tastes, its odour masking all other scents. “No, wait: to quote Leia, you’re a kriffing _nerf herder_ , that’s what! How could you put yourself in danger all the time―look what that’s done to you! Look where you are! _We almost lost you again_!”

Luke’s voice cracks on the final words, between his heavy gasps for breath.

Ezra pales. “Luke―”

But Luke speaks over him; he’s is on a roll, gaining momentum with every word he speaks, going too fast to stop any time soon.

“You’re always putting _yourself_ in danger to protect us, Ezra! You were losing yourself in the Dark Side, letting it take over! You got injured every battle! But did you _ever_ think what it would mean to _us_ if you died? Did you _ever_ _think_ that _maybe we wouldn’t be able to take it_?”

Ezra recoils, stricken. Luke chokes on his next words and closes his eyes. The anger in his body is gone is gone in a quick, fiery explosion, and the light is replaced with something darker. Something heavier.

“I almost lost you a second time, Ez,” he whispers. “I wouldn’t have been able to stand it. I’m not saying don’t use the Dark Side―if it works for you, fine―but why did you rely on that over us? Why can’t you let us protect you as well? Why does it always have to be you?”

Luke loses his momentum: it slams into a wall, bringing him an abrupt stop. He feels himself slide down it as he lowers his eyes, fighting back sobs.

Until now, until he put a voice to his emotions, he hadn’t realised how terrified he’d been. That he’d shut his gates closed so he wouldn’t feel anything, that’s he’s been numb for days. And now it’s all been let loose, he feels like he’s drowning in it.

He’d been so terrified Ezra wouldn’t make it.

“Luke,” Ezra whispers.

Ezra leans over, fingers inching forward like a snail. Luke shifts his hand a little closer so Ezra can wrap his fingers over his hand, his hold like a child’s trying to grasp something much bigger.

 _He’s still so weak_. Luke lifts his head, looking directly in Ezra’s eyes. Ezra licks his lips; they’re chapped, blood coming from some of the larger cracks. His body is tense as though expecting an attack. Luke nudges a

Ezra’s body loses some of its tension.

“I lost my parents when I was seven,” he croaks, closing his eyes. “I almost lost my family several times in the four years before we met. And then you came into my life―” He tightens his hold on Luke’s hand and opens his eyes. “I never wanted to lose you, _any_ of you, again. Ever. I just wanted you to be safe.”

If he wasn’t like the final leaf on a tree struggling to hand on in a fierce wind, Luke would’ve leaned over and pushed him. He groans as it is, his laughter mixed with half a sob.

He can’t stay mad at Ezra. Not when he can feel his love pulse through the Force, brighter than the moon or the sun and stronger than any Kyber crystal.

“You really _are_ a nerf herder,” Luke sighs. “How can we feel safe if you’re in danger?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

“ _That’s_ obvious.” Luke bites his lip. “Look, next time… do you think it’s okay for you to let us protect you for once, too? You’re not alone anymore, Ezra.”

Ezra chuckles. It sounds more like a wheeze. “I know. I’ll try and remember.”

“ _Please_.” Luke hesitates then adds, his lips quirking, “The galaxy would be a lonely place without you in it.”

Ezra’s eyes widen before he dissolves into chuckles, shaking his head. “Point taken,” he says, a light flush returning to his cheeks.

Luke smiles. His shoulders loosen, shedding themselves on tension he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “Good. I’m glad.”

Ezra smiles right back.

“I love you, Luke. Thank you for not giving up on me.”

Luke smiles and leans down, pressing his lips to Ezra’s. He keeps his touch feather light, cradling his boyfriend’s head like he’s a dandelion flower that will fall apart with too much pressure. Ezra returns the kiss with his dry lips; they stay there, seconds drawing out into a blissful, momentary eternity, before Luke breaks it. He settles back and smiles at Ezra, both of their Force signatures expanding like newly formed stars.

Maybe stars aren’t truly destroyed, after all. They turn to stardust, and go into the universe to become something else. Ezra may have gone supernova, but he’s still here. Still himself. He’s only slightly changed.

No matter what form, he’s still the brightest being in Luke’s world.

“I’ll never turn my back on you,” he vows. “I love you as well.”

Ezra points to his eyes. “Even with these?”

They’re still golden. Still aligned with the Dark.

Gold, though bright, doesn’t necessarily mean good things―something Luke knows from his years on Tatooine, a planet controlled by the Hutts. Gold is the symbol of egotism, of excess, of _greed_. Gold is storage, the amass of something kept to benefit oneself, something that controls the power of those who have it at the suffering of others.

Gold is the basic symbolism of corruption.

But, as he’s learning, there are several meaning to everything―even gold. It’s a tool, something that can improve the lives of others when used for the right purpose.

Just like Ezra. His golden eyes have never hardened to cold cash, using the Dark for his own gains. He uses it for others. He uses it to protect Luke, his family, the Rebellion.

Just like gold, he’s been able to use the Dark side to help others.

The Jedi’s black-and-white view of the Force becomes less and less reasonable to Luke the longer he thinks about it.

Because Ezra is still Ezra. He’s still driven by his need to protect and care for others. If he lost himself, it was only in his desperation, not his cruelty. Not like Vader, crushing his opponents just because he can―Ezra has never abused his powers outside of battle. Not like Jabba, using his monopoly control to benefit only himself.

Unlike them, Ezra is far from corrupted.

Luke shrugs. “They’re growing on me. It’s your choice which path you follow―I don’t mind as long as you’re safe. We’ll protect each other this time.” Slowly, a grin creeps over his face. “Though I _can’t_ say I can protect you from your family, Sabine and Zeb especially.”

Ezra winces and curls up slightly, like a small critter retreating into its protective shell. “That’s one battle I won’t ask you to fight.”

“Good. Do you know how _terrifying_ Sabine is when she’s mad? I’d rather face an army of Imperials. And she’s _really_ mad, _and_ she has Zeb backing her up.” Luke shudders, then presses a kiss to Ezra’s forehead. “Maybe I should say my goodbyes now.”

Ezra snorts. “That might be a wise decision.”

“Though it might be a while before anyone shows up…”

Ezra raises a brow but, before he can ask, Luke clambers onto the bed and lies down by Ezra’s side.

“Rest,” he says, pressing a kiss to Ezra’s temple. “You’re still recovering. I can see how tired you are.”

“That obvious?”

“Only to me.”

Ezra chuckles and turns his chest, resting it on Luke’s shoulder. Luke smiles and rests his own atop of Ezra’s, closing his eyes and falls into a more peaceful lull of sleep.

His aunt had told him to wish on a star―but she hadn’t told him that stars could be found in human form.

And that in Ezra, his own star, Luke realises he has no more wishes.

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY ALEX!!!!!!
> 
> alex, i love you so much. i know you're been busy with uni but you still reply to my ridiculously long messages, you don't know how much i smile seeing that notification, or just seeing you pop up on my twitter! it's been three years now since we met and i am so, so happy that we did! thank you for everything, for listening to my rambles and screaming about rebels and enabling my love of dark/sith!aus, for your support, and just for your friendship. i love you so much and i really hope we can meet someday soon <3333
> 
> (also writing this made me realise how much i missed skybridger and how much i want to create more content for them!)
> 
> also, this fic is VERY heavily inspired by the concepts in mo dao zu shi (which i highly recommend ANYONE check out!). it's not a complete copy and paste, but skybridger's dynamic here was very much inspired by the wangxian dynamic


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